


Husband, wife, husband.

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, The Martells being their usual bamfy selves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya Stark loves Starfall almost as much as she loves her husbands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea. Enjoy.

 

Arya loves Starfall.

She loves the balmy breezes that blow in off the ocean, the tang of salt and sand and warmth that hangs like perfume in the air.

She loves the way the pale stone of the towers gleams in the eternal sunshine, the vibrant colours of the flowers that twine around every door and gate.

She loves the gardens where she plays with her sons and daughters, Allem and Brandon and Callisa and Daella, in the dappled sunlight, the wind chimes singing and the fruit trees rustling.

She loves the freedom that is hers at Starfall, that allows her to saddle up Dust and ride off along the coast for hours at a time, that allows her to train with her sword, that allows her to take control of her own affairs.

Arya loves Starfall.

 

* * *

 

Arya loves Ned.

Not her father, mind – her husband, Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall.

She loves his gentle manner, the way he listens to everything she has to say even when she's angry and talking nonsense.

She loves the surprising strength in his long, slender limbs and his clever hands, the way he can wield Dawn so powerfully and cradle their shining stars so gently.

She loves the sound of his laughter, partially because he so rarely laughs freely but mostly because of how warm the sound is.

She loves how soft his pale hair is, how bright his violet-blue eyes are, how his mouth tastes on hers and how his skin feels under her hands.

She loves that he sees her as a person, that he asks her opinion on the running of his lands, that he doesn't just leave her to keep the castle and mind the boys, that he tells her dirty jokes and challenges her openly in the practice yard.

Arya loves Ned.

 

* * *

 

Arya loves Trys.

Prince Trystane Martell of Dorne, who spends more time at Starfall than at Sunspear.

She loves how disarmingly clever he is, how he hides his wonderful mind behind a mask of japes and impropriety.

She loves how freely he loves, sweeping their sand wolves up into the air, parading them proudly around the Water Gardens when they visit.

She loves the scent of his skin, cinnamon and something else that might be honey to match the warm colour of his eyes.

She loves the way his muscles shift under her hands, rippling and flexing when she touches him with fingers and lips.

She loves the way he fights back with her, the way he doesn't expect her to be a perfect lady, the way he races her and Dust on Silk, the way he judges her by the same standards that he judges Ned.

Arya loves Trys.

 

* * *

 

She remembers the day she understood that she felt more than friendship for Trystane.

He'd had been visiting with them for half a year already, having arrived in the week after Allem was born and staying to rekindle his friendship with Ned. They'd told her how they'd been friends as boys, before Ned went north to squire for Beric Dondarrion, because he'd spent most of his childhood at the Water Gardens under Prince Doran's watchful gaze.

Trys made her laugh, made her more comfortable than anyone except Ned and his aunt Allyria, and by the time she realised that it was not normal to seek out his company as much as she did Ned's, it was too late – she was as firmly in love with Trystane as she was with Ned.

She hated herself for it at first, hated catching herself watching the way Trys' face changed when he smiled, hated herself for laughing at his clever japes, but then she saw the way his eyes followed her, lingering on the curve of her hip, and she felt  _powerful._ She wondered if this was what Sansa felt like all the time, having two such beautiful men watching her with desire in their eyes.

She hadn't acted on it, that  _want,_ but she'd never been more tempted to be truly wild than when she saw the spark of want in Trystane's eyes when Ned stripped off to dive into the sea down at the cove the next day. She was startled by it, and began to watch the two men more closely, wanting to know if it was all in her head or if Trys was looking at Ned the same way either of them would look at her.

She decided to wait, to see if she was right, and she spent the four weeks falling more steadily in love with a man who was not her husband without falling out of love with her husband.

 

* * *

 

She remembers the day she confirmed that Ned and Trys were more than just friends.

She'd been out riding alone for the first time since Allem's birth, just her and Dust and the endless coastline, but she'd returned earlier than expected because Dust threw a shoe.

She'd returned to Starfall and left Dust with the grooms, planning on changing into something lighter before finding Ned and Allem and Trystane. She'd assumed that they would be somewhere in the gardens, or perhaps down at the cove, but instead she'd found them twisted together in her and Ned's bed.

She'd stood in the door, transfixed by the tangle of slender, milky legs and strong, dusky arms and lavender silk sheets, by the deep, guttural moan slipping past Ned's lips as Trys kissed his way down her husband's stomach.

She hadn't been able to hold back a whimper at the sight of Ned coming undone, his legs stark white against the tanned expanse of Trys' back and his finger's tangled in the prince's black, black hair, and they'd pulled away from each other so quickly then that Trystane had toppled off the bed.

She'd looked from one to the other, feeling the catch in her breath and her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn't remember pulling off her clothes and kicking off her boots, didn't remember crossing the room to kiss Trys as if it was the most important thing in the world.

She did remember the taste of Ned on Trys' tongue, the feel of Ned's mouth ghosting up her spine and the warmth of Trys' skin under her hands for the first time. She didn't remember very much of that afternoon aside from the way she'd laughed when they were done and she had Ned pressed against one side and Trystane against the other, laughed at the thought of how her parents would react if they knew she was sharing her bed with two men.

 

* * *

 

It was difficult at first, Arya is willing to admit that. It was so new, so strange to all of them, that none of them knew precisely how to go about it.

It was harder for Trystane than for her and Ned, because they at least knew how to behave around one another, at least it was  _expected_ that they behave with each other as they did.

She and Trys had the most to learn about each other – Trys and Ned knew each other intricately in the way that people who grew up together do, and she and Ned had been married for almost two years by then. Ned made it both easier and more difficult for them by spending days at a time riding out and surveying his lands, and Arya felt foolish for feeling shyer around Trystane now that she knew her feelings were requited than before, when she'd been dancing around the issue.

Seeing him with Allem was what helped the most, and she still finds that amusing. Arya had never imagined herself as a mother until her belly began to swell with Ned's child, and when she began to wonder what it would be like to carry Trystane's child she knew that they could make this arrangement of theirs work.

 

* * *

 

No one questions Trystane living at Starfall. Arianne excels in her role as Prince Doran's heir, and there is little need for Trys to spend time at Sunspear except on official occasions, and Arya and Ned usually have to travel to the city for those as well anyways. Still, even that is difficult, because they have to school themselves so as not to be too affectionate, as free with touches and smiles as they are at home, and they're never anywhere for long before Trys is sneaking into her and Ned's room.

All three of them feel guilty about it, but they can't deny that the risk of being caught is thrilling.

Having visitors makes things difficult – Sansa and Willas Tyrell visit as often as their duties in Highgarden allow, and when Arya and Ned host Bran and Meera Reed after their wedding, Trystane can be no more than a friend, a member of their household.

It's hard for them to balance it, something they all acknowledge and are willing to accept if it means being together, but it is never harder than when Arya comes to bed late one night, slipping between them, and stroking their hair as she always does, and whispers that she is with child.

It takes almost six months, by which time her stomach is round and heavy, for them to stop sniping at one another – Ned and Trystane can't seem to agree on anything at all, and Ned becomes possessive of Allem in a way that makes Arya's heart hurt. She hates seeing them at odds, hates that she is the root of it all, but there seems to be nothing she can do until one day, one perfect, gleaming day while sitting at the edge of the water in the cover when the baby kicks and she takes one of Ned's hands and one of Trys' and presses them both to her stomach.

She watches their faces, sees the matching smiles, and she slumps back onto the pale white sand in relief when Ned lifts his free hand and cups Trys' chin, pulling him in for a kiss that takes the place of the apology he's too proud to actually speak.

 

* * *

 

Brandon Dayne is the image of his namesake save his eyes, his dark golden eyes that are the double of his father's. Arya thinks that she will die from the sheer amount of love in her heart at the sight of Ned holding Allem and Trystane cradling Brandon at the end of the bed, her lovers and their sons.

 

* * *

 

She is terrified when her mother decides to visit, not knowing how she will explain away Brandon's eyes and the way he so clearly prefers Trys to Ned.

Catelyn Stark is nothing if not practical, though, and Arya can see the way she pushes aside her suspicions, the way she pretends not to notice that Brandon's laugh is the same as Trystane's. She showers both of her grandsons with affection, making no distinction between trueborn and bastard, and Arya has never loved her mother as much as she does in those few weeks.

When Catelyn takes her face in her hands, her eyes worried and warm, and asks if she is happy, Arya does not hesitate even a moment before saying yes. How could she not be? She has not one but two men who love her without reserve, two beautiful sons, the kind of life she dreamed of as a child mixed in somehow with the life Sansa dreamt of.

Her mother kisses her brow and boards the ship that will bring her to White Harbour, and Arya relaxes properly for the first time since she arrived, thinking of ways to repay Trys for being so wonderfully understanding and subdued.

 

* * *

 

The whole of Dorne whispers about Prince Trystane, that it is past time that he took a wife, or at least found a paramour like his late uncle. In public, Trys dodges questions and laughs at rumoured lovers, but in private he is solemn in his promise that he will never take any lover other than Arya and Ned.

She is sure that the Martells know the precise nature of her and Ned's relationship with Trys, sees it in the knowing gleam in Tyene's eyes when Brandon calls Trys "Papa" as he does at Starfall and Ned hurries to correct him, in the way Prince Doran rests a gouty hand on Brandon's red brown hair and smiles affectionately.

She watches her boys – all four of them – playing the water as the sun sets, silver-blonde and red-brown and night-black, and she wonders what Sansa would say to her having two husbands at once and a son by each.

 

* * *

 

Callisa is next, her silvery Dayne hair and silvery Stark eyes and Ned's silvery pale skin a striking combination. Arya vows to have one more child – just one – to balance her family. She finds herself wanting another girl, this one with black hair and sandy skin and eyes of honey. She nurses Callisa and watches Ned and Trys chase Allem and Brandon across the lawns, and feels the now-familiar rush of adoration for her family.

 

* * *

 

It is during the pursuit of their fourth child – because the children belong to all three of them – that they are caught unawares.

It is so late that it's early, and Arya is pressed between Trys and Ned. Her leg is slung over Trys' hip as he buries himself inside her again and again, his hand reaching behind her to look after Ned. Ned, for his part, is busy kissing every inch of her skin that he can reach while his fingers dip between her legs, stroking her and stroking Trys. She can't do much more than kiss Trys and twist a hand into Ned's hair and try to keep quiet, because the children are only a floor down and she doesn't want to wake them.

There's a looking glass on the wall opposite the bed, and Arya feels almost drunk on their beauty when she catches a glimpse of the three of them twined together. Ned is so pale and slender and elegant, Trys so dark and lean and strong, and she between them seems a balance of the two, dark hair and pale, freckled skin and soft curves, softened further by three children-

It's a testament to how distracted all three of them are that they don't hear the shouts from downstairs, the delighted shrieks of the children, that Arianne marching into their room is their first hint that Trys' sister has decided to pay them a visit.

When Daella is born nine months later with hair as dark as soot and skin the colour of sand, Arianne laughs and laughs and laughs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so after much consideration, I've decided that PanBoleyn (hi Kate!) is right, and this series is set in an AU where Ned did as was suggested and stayed on as Joffrey's Regent and everything was very peaceful because someone killed Joffrey off and now Tommen is king. Huzzah! Basically, it's a pretty happy world. Ha. Enjoy.
> 
> (Also I know this has been a long time coming I'm sorry)

Arya leaned into the circle of Ned's arm and watched Allem and Daella ride rings around their cousins. Brandon and Callisa were sitting under one of the lilac trees that lined the avenue, singing and dancing and laughing with the rest of their cousins.

"They are so beautiful," Ned murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. "We're so lucky."

She hummed in agreement, tilting her head to the side, inviting him to kiss up her neck. He laughed under his breath and complied, his lips ghosting across her skin.

"Trys will be annoyed if we start without him," he breathed against her ear, drawing a moan from the base of her throat. "Although he might excuse my weakness when you look so delectable."

"No he won't," she sighed. "But I'm sure you'll be able to make up for it."

Ned laughed again, turning her in his arms and kissing her mouth, long and slow and leisurely.

"It was a wonderful idea to have your brothers and sister send the children ahead of themselves," he told her when he pulled away. "So much spare time…"

"Not that much," she reminded him. "Alys and her family will be arriving within the next two weeks – and then my brothers and sister, too. A snatched afternoon here and there…"

"Better than nothing," Trystane called from the door, pushing it closed and shrugging out of his outer robe in one movement. "Better, for example, than you being here with Callie and the boys while Ned and Daella and I were trapped in Sunspear going through the motions-"

"It was important that we go," Ned argued, biting his lip as Trys nuzzled into the curve of his shoulder. "Daella is so obviously yours that it was only logical that you claim her and legitimise her-"

"Hmm," Trys murmured, winking at Arya over Ned's shoulder. She grinned and slid her hands down Ned's stomach, under his trousers. "Logic has never been a very large part of our marriage, Ned – I claimed Daella because I didn't want her to be shamed, nothing more. And because I need an heir, according to my sister."

Ned leaned back against Trys, eyes wide and blank. Arya's fingers teased and stroked while Trys licked a long line from the point of Ned's shoulder to the hollow under his ear, and Ned quickly forgot to argue about logic.

* * *

Allem, now twenty-one, was due to marry Alys Piper as soon as the girl and her family arrived from the Riverlands. He was the very image of Ned, right down to the shape of his long-fingered hands. There was nothing of Arya in his features, but he was her temper and mind and soul right down to his core.

None of her siblings save for Sansa had seen Daella, and none of them had passed comment on Brandon's Martell eyes, but she knew that her father at least would be unable to hold his tongue when he was presented with a granddaughter who could have been Elia Martell come again. She dreaded the thought of explaining her family to her parents.

Sansa had surprised her – she and Willas had visited just after their youngest girl, Samara, had been born. Willas had raised his eyebrows and Sansa had gasped when Arya had brought out the then-five years old Daella, but later, when Arya had rushed to explain over wine and olives, Sansa had waved it away with a laugh.

"We are not so stuffy in Highgarden as you seem to imagine, little sister," she teased, a smile that was half amusement and half wine playing about her lips. "If you are happy, and Ned knows and understands – I suspect he is as much a part of it as you and Prince Trystane – then why should you not continue as you are?"

Arya had never loved her sister as much as she had in that moment. She and Sansa had grown closer than ever since then, visiting with each other as much as possible and exchanging letters every week, and she longed for her sister's arrival more than anyone's, even Robb's and Bran's and Rickon's, none of whom she had seen since last she had travelled further north than Highgarden, before Callie was born.

* * *

It was a struggle to get the children arranged on the steps to greet her parents, but Arya managed it somehow.

Allem, Brandon and Callisa were in silver and lavender and white, Dayne colours, standing beside her and Ned, but Daella stood at the far end with Trys' arm around her shoulders, looking more lovely in orange and gold than she ever had in purple and white.

Arya had always loved looking at her daughters with their fathers – they were like matched pairs, save for their eyes. Both of the girls had her eyes but lighter, silver-grey like Rickon's. Callie had Ned's hair and skin and face, though, Ned's and Allem's and Allyria's, and Daella was like Trys and Arianne, Trys as he had been when Arya had first come south to Dorne twenty-three years before, when she was just sixteen.

Brandon was her Stark baby, even though he was a Tully through and through but for his Martell eyes – he reminded her so much of Sansa that sometimes she wanted to slap him and other times, when she was lonely for Winterfell, she sought out his company before anyone else's.

Still, she was fiercely proud of her family. She was sure that there wasn't such a beautiful group of people in all of Dorne, in all of the Seven Kingdoms (except perhaps Sansa and Willas and their family of obscenely lovely girls and perfect, beautiful Loras, named for the Knight of Flowers who had died in the Second Greyjoy Uprising), all of them linked through  _her._

Her parents travelled by wheelhouse now, with Father almost seventy and Mother not far behind, but when they stepped out into the bright Dornish sunlight, reflecting off the pale white stone of Starfall's towers, they stood straight and proud and so much a part of Arya that it ached somewhere deep inside.

She was thirty-nine years old, but looking into her father's eyes, she felt like a child.

"Welcome to Starfall," she called, half-running down the steps to greet them. Father leaned heavily on a cane now, his hair the same steely grey as his eyes, and Mother's hands, her beautiful hands, were swollen and arthritic, her vibrant red hair streaked with silver. It had been fifteen years since last she'd seen them – she had been pregnant with Daella at the time – and it was almost as if they were strangers. "It is so wonderful to see you."

"And you," Father assured her, sweeping her into an embrace that was as strong and sure and  _home_ as it had been when she'd been eight and lost in King's Landing.

That had been before she'd met Beric Dondarrion's Dornish boy-lord squire, who had laughed at her fierceness and sparred with her, who'd joined her during her lessons with Syrio Forrel, who'd taught her to dance when all others had failed, and how to withstand the pointless chatter at the dinner table.

"It's been a long while, Arya."

She flushed, embarrassed, but couldn't deny it – it had been  _too_ long, that she would freely admit, although she and all four of the children wrote letters to Winterfell as often as they could.

She quickly embraced Mother, kissing her cheek, and tugged them along by the hands –"Come, come meet your grandchildren!"

Allem was taller than Father, as tall as Ned, and he was so beautiful that Arya could almost see Mother beginning to dote on him – he was just as beautiful as Ned had been when she'd finally given in and fallen in love with him during those icy winter days in the practice yards at King's Landing. Brandon had the same easy humour as Robb and quickly endeared himself to everyone he met, and Callie – Callie was even lovelier than Allem, lovelier than Sansa had been on her wedding day even when she had just come in from a day riding along the coast with her brothers and sister.

They hesitated when they came to Daella though, looking to Arya in confusion.

"This is my youngest daughter, Daella," she said firmly. "Prince Trystane recently adopted her as his heir – Daella, greet your grandparents properly, sweetling."

Daella, fourteen years old and perfectly aware that her grandparents were watching her with something that could only be described as absolute horror on their faces, stepped forward and kissed first Father and then Mother on the cheek, smiling sweetly all the while. Oh, she was a Martell alright – she was just like her grandfather, Prince Doran, the wiliest politician and most gifted cyvasse player Arya had ever had the pleasure to meet. She knew that Eddard and Catelyn Stark would not accept her parentage with the same ease as Doran Martell had, but she knew also that she could not behave as anything other than the perfect granddaughter.

Arya had always been terrified of her parents' reaction to Daella – while Brandon's eyes could be explained away by saying that he took them from Ned's mother, there was nothing but Martell in Daella but her eyes, no way of explaining away that she skin was the precise shade of burnished gold as Trys', that her mouth was the exact shape of Arianne's, that she had Oberyn's smile and Nym's laugh and Doran's quiet manner.

Father looked from Daella to Trys to Arya and back again before looking hard at Ned, who had set his face in a mask of calm serenity.

"It seems we have missed much," Mother said, clutching Father's hand, her face pale.

Arya nodded.

"I suppose you have."

She led them inside and up the stairs to her solar – not the one off her and Ned and Trys' rooms, but rather the one in the suite that they used as a common room for all of the family, which had housed the children's playroom when they were small, where the girls kept a dressing room and the boys kept a small armoury.

They sat down and looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to explain away Daella's colouring, but she could not. She would not lie outright about her marriage, about her children, and she hated that the look in Father's eyes made her want to.

"Is Daella Prince Trystane's daughter by blood?" Father asked at last, his knuckles white on the head of his cane.

Arya took a deep breath and nodded. "And Brandon is his son, too," she admitted. "Allem and Callie are Ned's, but Brandon and Daella are Trys'."

Mother breathed sharply through her nose, covering her mouth with her hand for a moment before speaking.

"When I visited after Brandon was born, I thought – I believed that he took after Ned's mother-"

"No you didn't," Arya said, shaking her head. "I could see it in your face when you said goodbye, Mother – you didn't believe for a moment that Brandon wasn't Trys'."

"Is that why Prince Trystane has been living here with you all these years?" Father demanded, leaning forward. "Because he's your… Your lover? How could you betray your husband-"

"Ned- I'm not  _betraying_ Ned!" she exclaimed. "Ned  _knows,_ Father. He… He loves Trys as well. What's so wrong about that? About us… About us loving each other? All three of us?"

"Are the children aware of this?"

"Daella is the youngest and she is fourteen, betrothed to one of the Allyrions of Godsgrace and adopted as Trys' heir. Yes, the children all know – they don't speak of it to each other, much less to anyone else, but they know. We've never striven to hide it from them. Why should we?" she went on, her temper flaring. "There is nothing  _wrong_ with what we're doing. I consider Trys just as much my husband as I do Ned – I don't need a septon and a Martell cloak for that."

"Does all of Dorne know? They must, now that Daella has been to Sunspear," Mother said, biting her lip.

"It's something of an – an open secret, I suppose. People say that Starfall is Trys' paramour, but they mean…" Arya swallowed, feeling a flush climb up her neck. "They mean House Dayne. Ned and I. But no one would dare to say it, even though things are not so strict here as they are beyond the Marches."

Something in Mother and Father's faces told Arya all she needed to know. No matter what she said, no matter how she explained it, they would never be able to look at her in the same way. She would forever be branded as little better than a whore in her parents' eyes, and that hurt more than Allem's birth, that terrifying, bloody nightmare, had.

* * *

Robb, Bran and Rickon arrived all in one go with their wives, Jeyne and Meera and Eddara, and while Robb seemed perturbed by Daella, Bran and Rickon did not comment at all. Still, their presence and the silent disapproval and shock that radiated from her family left Arya distressed and weary, anxious for them all to be gone so that things could return to normal.

Allyria and Beric arrived almost simultaneously with Sansa and Willas, and it was all Arya could do not to collapse into her goodaunt's and her sister's arms.

Allyria and Beric had taken Arya and Ned's inclusion of Trystane into their marriage completely in stride, and Arya had loved Ned's aunt fiercely just for that. Together, Allyria and Sansa managed to get her to the pavilion in the pear orchard before she broke down completely, clinging to Sansa while she sobbed.

"Mother and Father hate me," she wailed. "They think I'm a whore, a horrible slattern who couldn't keep to her husband's bed-"

"I'm sure they don't," Allyria soothed, stroking her hair. "You're being very silly, Arya – have you spoken to Edric and Trystane about this?"

"I- No, but they must know, Father cannot even speak to Trys and he can barely look at Ned-"

"Well, perhaps you should speak to your husbands and see what they have to say on the subject," Sansa said sensibly, tipping Arya's face up and smiling. Sansa had turned forty-one two months past, but she was still easily one of the most beautiful women Arya had ever known. Motherhood and age had softened something in her face, given her delicate lines around her eyes and mouth from smiling and laughter, and long years spent amongst the roses of Highgarden had pinkened and freckled her pale skin so that she was almost like the Mother herself come down from the heavens. "And mayhaps I will have a word with Mother and Father."

* * *

Arya would never know what Sansa said to their parents, but whatever it was it had a profound effect that trickled down through their brothers.

She was down at the cove with Sansa and Allyria and all their daughters, Callie and Daella, Marla and Yvette and Samara, Meredith and Amelie, when Robb came to her. She made her excuses to Sansa and Allyria, cast one last glance at the girls splashing in the waves and turned to walk the short distance along the pale sand with Robb.

"I don't understand it," he admitted, "but if you are happy, then I can't ask for more. Mother and Father are frightened by it, I think – they will come round. Give them time."

"I should have brought the children to Winterfell," she said quietly. "It is my fault that they are facing all this now, when everything should be... Should be happy."

"It will be," he promised. "I know that they are – well, perhaps upset is the wrong word, but they adore all four of your children because they are  _yours,_ Arya. You must never doubt that – it was just something of a shock to see how… Unorthodox your marriage is. You have raised the children well, all of them."

Her eyes travelled up the steps to the cliffs looming over the cove, where she knew she would find Ned and Trys and Beric and the boys. Willas would have been with them had the uneven rocks that made up the shoreline directly behind Starfall, above the cove, not been impassable with his leg.

"I had ample help," she said, waving up at Brandon and Allem, leaning over the delicate marble railing that fringed the cliffs, pointing out different landmarks to their cousins. They waved back and shouted something that was whipped away by the wind, but she knew it was rude by the way Ned and Trys smacked their sons across the backs of their heads without even looking away from Beric.

* * *

Usually when they had visitors at Starfall, Trys slept in the spare suite on the floor below the rooms he shared with Arya and Ned, on the same floor as all the children's rooms. It was as a sort of defiant rebellion against her parents that Arya led him up the stairs to their room the night after her conversation with Robb at the cove.

"Arya, love, you don't need to do this," he assured her, guiding her to sit down on the edge of the bed. He watched her with wary eyes as he crossed the room to find a nightgown for her. "While I am flattered that you are so bloody-minded in your defiance of your parents on my behalf, there really is no need."

Ned emerged from his dressing room and seemed mildly surprised to see Trys, but he greeted him with a kiss all the same.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, pulling off his shirt and settling back onto the bed at her side. "Arya-"

"To say that my mother and father disapprove of our relationship would be a severe understatement," she said carefully. "And until Sansa and Allyria and, inadvertently, Robb reminded me that what we are doing is not wrong, I allowed their disapproval to matter. It doesn't matter at all what anyone else thinks – I love you both, and I love our children, and  _that_ is what matters."

* * *

Daella shrieked and sprinted across the gardens as soon as Oberyn and Ellaria appeared in view, barely giving her granduncle a chance to dismount before leaping into his arms.

Arya sat calmly on the terrace with Mother, Sansa, Allyria and Callie, sipping mint tea and nibbling on fresh peach slices.

"She smiles like him," Mother said quietly, hands shaking just slightly. She looked at Arya, looked at her hard and for a long time, and then sighed.

She said no more, and Arya thought that mayhaps neither she nor Father ever would again.

She knew that they would never look at her and Ned the same way, either, but if they accepted Daella and Brandon as their own regardless of who the children's father was, it would be more than Arya had ever dared hope for, and it would be enough.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Freedom to Choose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/517612) by [SecondStarOnTheLeft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft)




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